


Behind The Red Brick Garden Wall

by CaffeinatedThoughts



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: All of Spencer Reids Trauma, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, POV Spencer Reid, PostPrison!Spencer, Spoilers, Warnings for hallucinations, a few bad words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedThoughts/pseuds/CaffeinatedThoughts
Summary: Reid is dosed with something and hallucinates a person in a garden. At first he believes he’s met them before, but they assure him he hasn’t met them yet. After he pours his heart out, he wakes up before they can tell him anything about themselves. He ends up meeting them a year later. (Inspired by “The Gardener” by Sarah Sparks)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

_**Spencer’s POV** _

My head is spinning.

My head is spinning but I am standing still.

I tried turning around only to find that this further aggravated the condition that I found myself in, and suddenly I wound up on the floor. The cold concrete met my face with a force that felt all too gentle for what should have been a not so gracious fall. That’s what it was wasn’t it? I’m pretty sure I was standing up before. I must have been because now I am on the floor….

But my head is still spinning.

The part of my vision that manages to focus reveals to me a set of feet hurrying away. Quickly. What are they running from? Are they running? Yes. They had to have been, that was too fast to have just been a walk. The average person walks at about 3.1 miles per hour and they were without a doubt going over 10 miles per hour. As soon as those feet leave, they are followed by even more feet. As I try to gain a bearing on my surroundings, I hear distant voices calling out, but I’m unable to make out what they’re saying. It sounds like shouting. One pair of feet starts coming closer, as I hear a voice growing slightly louder. And it isn’t long before those feet crouch down directly in front of my field of sight, completely blocking out the stampede of the other feet that are now fading away just as quickly as they had come.

“Spence?”

I hear someone say something that vaguely sounds like my name. It sounds like JJ. Or maybe Emily?

“Spence?”

No, it has to be JJ. Why is my head still spinning?

I try to follow the voice with my gaze, but as I look up I am only met with a blinding light that I assume was coming from her gun because everywhere else is dim.

I feel a warmth being placed on my shoulder and I recognize it as JJ’s hand. Soon I hear her voice calling out to me, but it grows more distant and is replaced by a rustling. No. A whooshing? What is that? Maybe if my head wasn’t spinning I could hear it better. It sounds like wind. But I’m not outside. Am I?

“Spence.”

My head must be getting worse now because JJ’s voice is not only louder and more clear now despite the wind that accompanies it, but it’s altogether different. Maybe it’s the wind. The way the wind is carrying her voice. Is it even her voice?

“Spence.”

No that’s not JJ. But before I can even make out who it is, I hear muffled, distant sounds that are laden with panic and are followed by radio static.

“We need medics sent inside. We have an agent down. Spence! Spence, can you hear me?”

That’s definitely JJ. Who else is here? The other voice was so much calmer than JJ’s. Where was it coming from? I try to move my head to look around to hopefully find the voice, but I can’t move.

I can’t move and my head is still spinning.

“Spence.”

There it is!

That voice again, the calmer one. It’s louder this time. It must be getting closer. Or she’s in distress and she’s just calling out louder. No, her voice is too calm for that. She must be getting closer. Or maybe I’m getting closer. It’s like I can feel myself drifting towards it. But I know that can’t be because last time I checked, I couldn’t move. Wait a minute. I am moving. Well, I’m not moving but I’m being moved. A gurney. I’m being wheeled away on a gurney. Am I hurt? I can’t even move; maybe I am paralyzed. But I could feel JJ’s hand. And I can feel the needles the medics placed in my arm as well as their gloved hands when they did so, and I can fell the pinprick on my neck. So that can’t be it.

Wait.

The pinprick. It’s like the needle prick on my arm, but it’s different. It stings. Why does it sting?

“Spence.”

That voice is back. It’s even clearer now. Am I dying? If I could just turn my head to face the voice I’m sure I would see who it belongs to. That’s how close it sounds. It must be just right here. Somewhere….

But then suddenly it all stops.

The EMTs aren’t moving, the ambulance that I am surely in isn’t driving, JJ, who was riding in the ambulance with me, isn’t crying anymore, her tears are frozen in place on her face. The machines monitoring my vitals aren’t beeping. All of it has stopped.

My head isn’t spinning anymore. And I’m standing again. I’m walking. I turn around and see the ambulance with the backdoors open. Just as I had left it. Everything still frozen in place. Except I’m not on the stretcher anymore. I must have climbed out. Why don’t I remember that?

It’s like the whole world has been paused. Nothing is moving, everything on a stand-still.

“Spencer.”

My feet are following the voice before I even register that I am in fact walking again. It’s like my feet have a mind of their own, as they carry me down an unfamiliar path, and the rest of my body has no choice but to follow.

My familiar surroundings are overtaken by a dream-like haziness. I can look back and I still see the ambulance, but as I look ahead, all I see is a haziness. It’s like I am drifting between two realities. But my feet keep carrying me into the fog that lies ahead, towards the voice that was calling for me.

I’m midding through nothingness, and eventually I find myself wandering along the outside of a garden. I glance back over my shoulder as if to see what path it was that led me towards this garden, and I notice the ambulance isn’t there anymore. I am completely encompassed by fog now. I have no choice now but to continue towards the garden. As I walk inside, past its perimeter, I see nothing but old weeds and long dead thistles. In the center, there is a red brick wall. This poor wall looks like it’s on the verge of collapse. It’s almost entirely dilapidated, encased by dried out twigs, naked vines, and dead bushes.

But my feet carry me even further, past the worn-out wall. And I am astonished by the sight before me. Beyond the wall are spirited plants, rich greenery; a garden full of life. It’s breathtaking. But that’s not all that I see. Near the off-center of the garden, I see the source of that voice that my feet have so ardently and obediently followed. There is a girl sitting with her back towards me. As I walk closer, I see that she’s sitting on the ground, plucking up grass and watching as the leaves drop from her hand back to the ground.

As I approach her, she hardly stirs. She makes no indication that she notices me.

If my feet had had a mind of their own earlier, that mind is long gone now because it’s like they are rooted in place. At this point, I’m unsure of what to do. But something about the girl before me is alluring. Something about her just invites me in. It’s like there is some type of aurora she gives off that is welcoming me to take a seat down beside her.

So what do I do? I take a seat next to her on the grass. Though, she still makes no indication of acknowledging me. I’m okay with that.

All I do is watch her as she plucks up more grass, and watch as the blades of grass fall from her hand, almost hypnotically, creating its own rhythm, until they fall back to the ground.

My trance is broken by the sudden words that slip out from my mouth, “Do I know you?” I don’t even realize it’s me that’s talking until I hear myself. There is a moment before she speaks, as if she’s waiting for all the remaining grass to finish falling from her hands before interrupting its dance towards the ground with her words.

“No.” she finally says without so much as looking towards me, keeping her eyes fixed on the place where a small grass pile has formed.

“Not yet at least.” She adds on as she begins to start the process of plucking up more grass.

“Then why do I feel like I’ve seen you from somewhere?”

She didn’t answer, but I could feel her body turn to face me now. My eyes were glued to the grass pile, trying to find what it was that she saw in it that was so mesmerizing, as if the answer I was looking for was hidden in the grass somewhere. But all I see are blades of grass.

“Where do I know you from?” My eyes had finally met hers.

“From here.”

“Where’s here?”

As I keep my eyes locked with hers, I see her reach her hand up in my peripheral vision, and she places a finger on my temple. I find myself ever so slightly leaning into her touch. Her welcoming and familiar touch. But there is a foreignness to it too. A foreignness that I want to throw myself into and get lost in.

“You’re in my head?”

“That’s not the only place. I am here too.” She gingerly places her hand over my heart as she says this. This is all too overwhelming for me. If this is just a hallucination, then how is it that her touch feels so warm? So real?

Her hand is still on my chest and I am sure that she can now feel my nearly rapid pulse. My hands, much like my feet earlier, seem to have a mind of their own as they find their way to hers before I can stop myself. And as I take her wrist in my hands I see her expression morph before me. I can feel Apprehension creeping up on me.

“Something is wrong.” She says. I let out the breath that I’ve been holding in. I know where this is going. I’m not good at this. Whatever ‘this’ is. I settle for just keeping my grip on her hand, hoping that she won’t continue the conversation. Or at least change topics. I don’t know how to handle these types of situations. Situations that involve me explaining myself. But I don’t know how to steer the conversation in a different direction. So all I end up doing is pushing her hand further into my chest, closer to my heart, as if she can somehow feel what is wrong through my heartbeat alone. Hoping that I won’t have to explain myself.

“What is it?” She asks, ignoring Apprehension that has by now taken Her place beside me, resting Her head against me. My head feels like drooping forward as if it can no longer support itself with all the weight that I’m carrying on my shoulders.

“Tell me.”

“Why? What would be the point? This is just a hallucination. You’re not really here.”

As I said this I could feel the weight on my shoulders growing heavier. And just as my head fell forwards, giving way to all the weight, I felt her captivate my other hand with hers as she lifted it up towards my chest and placed it over my heart where her hand previously was. I could feel my heart beating in sync with the distant beeping that was starting to resurface its way back into my ears. But it was immediately drowned out by her voice again.

“I’m here. And I can see that it’s bothering you. It’s eating you up inside.”

With a sigh I finally willed myself to meet her gaze and that act alone - just looking into her eyes - alleviated some of the weight off my shoulders. But in doing so I was suddenly made aware of just how much weight there was, and how much remained. How much of everything I still carried with me. What I wouldn’t give for all the weight to finally be gone. Her presence seemed to make me forget about it. All the weight. That intoxicating freedom that I was searching for in all the wrong outlets, I had finally found in her. I was drunk on the idea of her. Her mere existence. That’s the only rationale that I can give for why I felt that I could pour out my entire soul to her after just taking one look at her. The words that wanted nothing more than to flow from me were begging to escape, but a part of me, a small, insecure part, was still fighting to contain everything by trying to block those words from escaping. And all I could manage to get out to explain it all was the incomprehensibly vague line, “It’s so heavy.”

“What is?”

Fuck, why is this so hard to explain. I’m not good at this. All the feelings and words are there. I just can’t get my mind to say what I want to mean. It’s right there but I can’t say it. How is my head not spinning?

“Everything. Just all of it. The memories….the nightmares…. the pain…. the feeling of nothing but feeling everything at the same time. The weight of it all. I- It’s…. just everything.”

I’m not making sense. What on earth could I possibly say. There’s no statistics to describe this. Because quite frankly I don’t even know what this is. How are there no words? How can I, of all people, have no words? Wait. That’s a lie. I do know what this is. Exulansis. The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it. That’s what this is. Forget about her not being able to relate to it. How can I even talk about it in the first place if I can’t even put the words together? I don’t know how to explain all of it; there’s just too much. A parable? Could I use that? No. A metaphor! Yes! That I could use. A metaphor, I’ll use a metaphor.

“S-Sometimes…It feels like I have these rocks… in this bag that I carry. My satchel. I use it to carry all my books and case work. But… sometimes, I just put it on and get ready for work and I just… it feels heavy. Like there’s rocks in the bottom of it that somehow made their way into my bag to find a permanent resting place. A- And… Every time. Every. Single. Time. I try to take the rocks out, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief. But it’s always short lived. Because not too long after it’s like even more rocks make their way in than there were before. And it keeps getting heavier. And just…. I just don’t know how.”

Wow. Okay, maybe a metaphor wasn’t the way to go about this.

“You don’t need to empty the rocks out of your satchel. Just take the satchel off.”

My brows furrowed at this, and I was afraid she wasn’t even close to understanding me.

“How?”

“Like this.” Slowly her hands reached behind my neck and began to lift the strap of my satchel up and over my head, bringing it to rest on the grass in between us.

Well that did absolutely nothing.

The weight isn’t on my shoulders anymore but now it’s right in front of me. Staring straight at me. And now it looks even more foreign than it did before. And although it’s not a burden on my shoulders any more, it’s as if I can feel its presence all the same. I guess somehow she knew all this, or she could just read it from my face, or maybe it’s just part of the hallucination, because as I was just blankly staring at my satchel, which was now situated right between us, she focused her gaze on the bag that was surely making an indentation in the grass from which the leaves wouldn’t be able to spring back up to life after its removal. She was only a satchel away and yet it felt like a lifetime was between us.

My thoughts came to a screeching halt as I realized what she was doing. She was reaching in my satchel….. No no no no. End this now. I need to wake up. I can’t do this. I can’t. How do I go back? I need to go back to wherever I was before this started happening. To the ambulance. Fuck, I forgot that the ambulance isn’t here anymore. Doesn’t matter. I need to go back somehow….

And then she pulled out a rock. “What’s this one?”

There were actually rocks in my satchel? It wasn’t just a feeling this whole time? Or… is this part of the hallucination? This is a hallucination, right? My brain’s way of trying to tell me something? Scientifically speaking, a handful of hallucinations during wakefulness are perceptions that can be voluntarily controlled. However, much like those who experience delirium, this isn’t usually the case with drug induced hallucinations. So if I was in fact drugged - and I think I was - then I have no control over what it is that my brain is trying to tell me. If it even is trying to tell me something. If I’m right about this being a hallucination.

“How long have you had this one?”

Before I could even fully process her question, I found myself answering automatically, as if she had asked something so casual as ‘Nice weather today, isn’t it?’

“I’ve had that one the longest. Since I was young.” The rock she was holding had clearly seen better days. It was old, and looked as if it was about to crumble into dust. I realized it was something that I had carried with me for a lot longer than I had even realized. Probably since my early childhood. I couldn’t even control my answer, it just spilled out of me.

“There was this boy, named Riley. I knew him when I was younger.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was murdered. My younger self must have compartmentalized it. The details of it are a bit hazy to me.”

“You knew him though?”

“Yeah, he was a friend of mine.”

She placed the rock down gently onto the grass, as if the slightest touch would shatter it. She paused for a moment, staring at Riley’s rock, before she reached back in the bag and pulled out another, similarly old rock.

“What about this one?”

“That one is my dad.” I was met with earnest eyes that urged me to continue on in my explanation. “He left my mom and I. Also when I was young.” Satisfied with my brief answer, she placed the rock down beside the first one. And we continued in this process of emptying my satchel of rocks, examining them, explaining their origins, and setting them aside on the grass.

Eventually, she pulled out a handful of similarly sized and shaped pebbles. Her hand was almost overflowing with the small rocks. My hands quickly found their new position underneath hers, prepared to catch any rocks that may fall out from hers. She looked up at me expectantly, her eyes asking the silent question that was now routine each time she pulled out a rock: “What are all of these?” The cases.

“These are all of the cases I’ve worked on.”

Maybe their individual mass wasn’t a lot, but over time they’ve collected and formed an unchecked mass whose weight I was oblivious to until now. Until they were out in the open, meeting me face to face. Some were bigger than the others and some stood out among the rest. I picked up each pebble, explaining them one by one, until her hands were emptied.

“What about this one?”

She pulled out another smaller rock, similar to the pebbles from the cases from earlier, except this one was stained red. And it was a bit heavier than the others. If I am being truthful with myself, I didn’t expect to get to this one this early on. I thought it would be one of the last things that I would have to explain. I was getting nervous, having to face the fact that I’d have to confront this now, and I think she could tell. But she patiently cradled the rock between her fingers nonetheless, waiting for me until I was ready.

“That one….” I started but it took me a moment before I could bring myself to find the words, that smaller part of me coming back to fight against my better judgment. “…That one is also from a case”. I was trying not to choke on my own voice as I forced the words out.

“Why isn’t it with the others?”

“That case was different.”

“Oh.” Was all she said. ‘Oh.’ Simply stated as if she already knew what I was preparing myself to say.

“That case…. involved me. I was kidnapped. And tortured…. and drugged.” I finally admitted with as much apathy as I could fake. My gaze shifted away from her and from the pebble in front of me, trying to look at anything - literally anything - else. It was then that she placed her hand on my check, drawing my attention back to her. Grounding me and my thoughts that were sure to make my head start spinning again if I continued in them.

“But that’s not all?” She asked with trepidation, breaking me from my thoughts.

I fixed my gaze on her and in that moment I think she knew. No. She didn’t only know, she understood. Her eyes. Something about her eyes had made me feel like she understood me. Even if no words were exchanged between us, it felt as though she somehow understood everything. Understood me.

“No, that’s not all.” My words finally in accordance with what my gaze was already silently admitting to. Which, I’m guessing she could clearly read all over my face. “After it was all said and done…. We uhm… well, I… I shot him. Tobias, my kidnapper, I shot him. Well, it uh, it wasn’t just him. I mean it was him, but he was suffering from a dissociative identity disorder, so I shot one of his alters, but it was still him that died. And afterwards… when my team finally found us…or found me, I stayed behind. I asked for a moment. I stayed behind because I knew that he- that Tobias- had kept the drug that he used to dose me with in his pocket. So I stayed behind. I stayed behind after the team had gotten ready to pack things up so that I could take the vials from his pocket before his body was taken over by the evidence technicians.” I let out an exaggerated sigh once I had said everything. The bandage was finally ripped off, revealing a scarred over wound. It wasn’t even a fresh wound. Why did it hurt so much then?

“That explains this one then?” She pulled out another rock. For its size you wouldn’t think much of it. That is, until you actually held it. She had to use both hands to pull it out of the bag, even then she struggled a bit. It was heavier than it appeared to be.

“Yeah. That explains that one. I uh… I- I got addicted. To dilaudid. That was the drug. I struggled for a while, I even thought about leaving the team.” I laughed off that last part in an attempt to try to alleviate some of the gravity that was now floating around air from having to talk about this whole ordeal. “I got help though. Eventually.”

Without her saying anything, we fell back into the routine. Of her pulling out a rock, me explaining it, and then both of us setting it aside for now. She was never hesitant in her actions. She never rushed me. She just took up her role as a listener in this hallucination, expecting me to explain everything to her when the time came.

So I did. I told her about Riley. I told her about my father and how he had left when I was young. I told her about my mother, and how despite my best efforts, I just couldn’t provide the care she needed. And I told her about how that decision has followed me well into my adult life and how it has haunted me since. I told her about the uncertainty of my future, and how the chances of me inheriting my mother’s fate is 10% more likely when compared to the normal frequency of schizophrenia occurring in individuals who don’t have a parent with the disease. I told her about the team, and about how they are as much of a family to me as my mother is. I told her about the cases that we deal with and how each case affects us differently, permanently making a nest in our minds, reshaping a small portion of how we view the world around us. I told her about Garcia and how, despite all the bad, she reminds that small distorted portion in our minds that the world is still good. I told her about Gideon. First about his departure from our team, and then about his departure from this life. I told her how much I missed his advice and the way he would stare me down whenever we played chess, as if he was waiting for me to see the hidden moves he had already planned out on the board, hoping I would catch onto his plays before I was ultimately checkmated.

I told her about my migraines and headaches. About how they brought me in contact with a special geneticist, who, like Gideon, was also forced to depart from this life. I told her about the nightmares and headaches that re-surfaced after her departure. I told her about how distraught I was that I couldn’t save her. That I had come so close, within arms length, only to have her ripped away from me in the end. I told her about how from then on I tried to distance myself from those closest to me so that they too wouldn’t get hurt on my behalf. I told her about this and about so much more. I poured my heart out to her and she listened. Each and every word, she listened to attentively, as if each word that flowed forth from me taught her a little more about me and revealed more of my heart to her.

It should have taken a while, but it felt as though the time flew by. Soon, all the rocks were splayed out on the grass before us. My satchel was emptied.

No stone was left unturned. She knew everything and all there was to know of me. It was all laid out before her. And she didn’t turn away. She just looked towards me, choosing to ignore the presence of the rocks for now, and instead choosing to focus on me.

So we just sat there. Staring at each other. The distance between us growing impossibly smaller. Then we heard it. That distant beeping, pulling us from the moment. Her head turned towards the noise as if she was trying to locate it.

“What is that?” I asked. But I knew what it was, even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself. It was time for me to go. And I suppose she knew it too because her next spoken words mirrored my exact thoughts.

“I think it’s time for you to go.”

Why did she have to say it? She just confirmed what I didn’t want to hear. After all of this. What felt like a lifetime in of itself couldn’t have been cut shorter.

“Spence.” I hear her say, but her mouth isn’t moving. I realize it isn’t her that’s talking. Whoever it is, their voice sounds distant and is accompanied by even more quiet mumblings. But that’s all they are. They are just mumblings. And she is here. With me. Now. Why can’t I just stay and talk to her?

“Why? Why can’t I stay here with you ?”

“They need you, Spence.”

That was the first time she used my name since I had sat down with her.

“But I don’t want to leave you. Come with me.” I stated it as more of an impossible plea than a demand.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can!” I said as I grabbed her hands, ready to drag her with me out of my imagination and into the real world. The beeping was growing louder.

“I’ll always be here.” and she placed her finger back on my temple like she had when this whole encounter began.

“That’s not enough.” I confessed, my voice breaking as I leaned into her touch and forced my eyes shut as to trap the tears inside, preventing them from falling. “No one else understands me like you do. I need you.”

“I’ll be there whenever you need me. I’m yours. Only yours. I’ll always be right here.” This time she placed a kiss on my temple.

The mumblings grew louder and louder, reaching the point where they were almost drowning out her voice entirely and I could barely hear what she had left to say before I found myself being pulled back into reality. I tried to force out the noises of what I now realize was the real world, and rather tried to focus on her and what she was saying; but I couldn’t. Instead, I was met with a force that was yanking me back into the real world, the vision of her fading before me.

And with that I opened my eyes, only to find that she wasn’t there. And I wasn’t in the garden anymore. Instead I was met with the same damned beeping noise that ripped me from my Eden, accompanied by a blinding white light from above, which I assumed to be the light in my hospital room. I hate hospitals and their over exaggerated lighting. Despite all the studies that show that the carefully chosen lighting in hospitals is actually beneficial to patient recovery and their overall well being, you would think that retina damage would have also been taken into consideration when choosing which LED fixtures to use. I had to close my eyes to prevent it from blinding me. As I closed my eyes I kept willing my conscience to go back to that garden, wishing that I’d see her again. To at least ask her for her name, or to hear her say mine again. Even to just see her once.

So I kept my eyes closed despite the clatter of voices of my team that had intruded in on my Paradise in the first place.

Only this time, there was no brick wall. And I didn’t see her. I didn’t hear her calling out to me, beckoning me to join her again among the grass. All that I heard was that incessant beeping.


	2. Chapter 2

**Spencer’s POV**

Six months.

“Reid, JJ, you two and I will check out the crime scene. Okay, everyone else, report back with updates.”

It’s been six months. 

Six months that I’ve spent every spare minute of my time researching, reading articles, burying myself into scientific journals, dissecting studies on the neurological nature of hallucinations, mulling over the science, trying to explain what it was that I had dreamt of – or hallucinated. 

And I have found that you cannot dream about someone you’ve never seen before. It’s simply not possible. So whoever it was that I saw in that garden, somewhere along the line, I’ve had to have come across this girl before. Even if she was just a face in passing, I had to have seen her from somewhere. Where? How could I not remember her? The average person sees about 90,000 to 42.5 million faces throughout their lifetime. That’s of course not taking into account the types of jobs that one would have that would limit exposure to human contact, and the inherent laziness that plagues society. But that still leaves a 90,000 minimum on average. And I don’t consider myself to be particularly lazy, even if I don’t work out every morning the way a typical field agent should. Plus, I see a bountiful number of faces everyday with the type of job I have. There is no way I would be able to place her face, despite my memory.

 _The type of job I have_.

What if her face is just a case file? A face from a witness? I could find her in the cases we have in storage. Yes! The files in storage, I can go there after we wrap up this case. 

Wait. 

What if she’s an Unsub? No, I would have remembered that. Or even worse, what if she was a victim who’s already long gone? No. She can’t be. She just can’t. What kind of message would that be? Having spent countless nights meditating on the science of hallucinations, I’ve come to the conclusion that there has to be some type of meaning or underlying message that my brain was trying to send me. After all, Francis Crick credits his discovery of the DNA double helix to the hallucinations he experienced after having taken LSD, and Carl Sagan was said to have used –

“ _Reid!_ ”

“What?” 

“Is everything alright?” You mean apart from the fact that you’ve just ruined my train of thought?

“Yeah.” I tried to give Emily the most convincing face I could muster, smile and all. I don’t think she was buying it. With the way she was eyeing me, her stare lingering on my expression longer than it should have, it tells me she knows I’m hiding something. 

“Okay. Well, let’s get going, JJ is waiting for us in the van.”

“The lead detective on the scene says that there were two bodies found in the kitchen, one of which appears to have been dragged there. And the third body was found upstairs.” Emily just got off the phone with the unit that was already stationed at the most recent crime scene, waiting for our arrival. 

“Was any indication made of moving the third body?” I try to make it seem like I was in fact paying attention during the phone call, but my mind had tuned the whole thing out, deciding instead to return to its earlier thoughts before they were cut short by Emily. I hate that I can’t control my thoughts sometimes. 

“He didn’t say. Guess we will have to take a look for ourselves.” Oh, good. I thought maybe the detective mentioned it and I just missed it being too enraptured in my own daydream. 

Luckily, JJ ended up taking the brunt of the conversation from here on out, so I was free to at least partially retreat back into my mind. 

The rest of the car ride there was relatively silent. I had nothing left to contribute to the working profile so I choose focus my gaze out the window, trying to clear my head. Trying to concentrate on anything but the image of that girl that kept running through my head. I kept trying to turn my attention to whatever it was that flew by my sight as we drove past the streets. Anything - even a stupid mailbox outside - anything that would make me forget about her. 

It was no use, I saw her in everything. From the way the steam forces its way through the lid of a coffee cup, reminding me of fog that surrounded us, to the way that the daily postage is dropped off in that mailbox, the letters tumbling to the bottom, reminiscent of the blades of grass that fell from her hands. She was everywhere. 

For crying out loud, even the random people on the street are starting to look like her. For instance, take the one who just crossed the street and is heading down the sidewalk now. The way her hair follows her movements as she walks, the way it obscures her face as it falls from her shoulders, mimicking the way those leaves had danced towards the ground. And her footsteps. They follow that exact same rhythm. Even the way she - 

Wait a second… is that? 

Is that…. _her_?! Is it? 

I throw a frustrated glare at the back of Emily’s head, as if I could telepathically communicate to her to pick up the speed. _Drive faster Emily I can’t see from the back seat! Move up!_ I am practically standing up in the back of the van, or standing as far as the roof would allow me to, trying to crane my neck to get a better view. 

It is! 

It’s Her! It’s actually her! Where’s she going? She just turned the corner. Fuck! Stupid seatbelt is jammed. You know, for FBI vans you would think they would have decent seatbelts. What if we had gotten in a car accident and I had to get out quickly to fetch help or something? Got it! Finally. 

“Reid!”

“Spence! What are you doing?”

“Reid! We’re still moving! Close the door!”

“Spence!”

Throwing caution to the wind - literally - I jump out of the car before I could even fully untangle myself from the dumb seatbelt. I almost end up with a face full of concrete again, but I catch myself in time before that has a chance to happen. But not before I nearly collide into all the bystanders on the sidewalk who were oblivious to my mission entirely - probably thinking I look like a maniac jumping from a moving car without even bothering to close the door behind me.

Which corner did she take? I had to hurry before she was gone. Still stumbling forward, looking like an idiot, trying to weave my way through pedestrians and almost crashing into even _more_ people, I run after her. I was nearing the corner at about the same time that Emily managed to turn around and catch up to me with the van, which still had the backdoor open. 

No! You have got to be joking! Where is she? I know she turned this corner! I saw it! She’s not here. Where did she go!?

“Spencer!”

That tone alone was enough to cause my muscles to tense, my efforts in trying to find her being forced to a halt. I turn around, only to see a very angry JJ and Emily, slamming all three doors shut before approaching me. 

“What on earth was that about?”

“What were you thinking?”

“You could’ve hurt yourself.”

“Or worse, you could’ve gotten run over!”

“I uh… I thought I saw something.” _You’re a profiler for crying out loud, lie better than that._ I’m too busy to bother coming up with a lie. I’m not even focused on them anymore. My gaze snapped back to the direction I saw her heading, still trying to search all the faces among the crowd, hoping that a familiar one will make itself known, looking for any indication or sign that she could still be here.

“Something that was worth jumping out of a car like that?” 

Before I have time to answer, Emily’s phone rings, and her attention is pulled in another direction. Thank goodness. But I’m still left with JJ’s eyes boring into my soul, trying to profile me. Trying to read what could have possibly caused me to jump out of the car like that. Before she can get too far, like Emily, her attention is soon demanded elsewhere. Unfortunately, so is mine. 

“Ok, that was the detective, they’re waiting for us. We’ll talk about this later, you can be sure of that. Now let’s go.”

Three months. 

I’m stuck here doing reports of old, closed cases, and it’s been three months. 

Three months since I jumped out of the car trying to chase after what would have been my only reprieve from my constant thoughts of her. I keep trying to rack my brain, to shake these thoughts loose so that I can just get back to work, but as Fortune would have it, it’s just not that easy. 

My dreams are plagued with images of her. Every night, she’s embedded in my dreams, images of her, buried in the recesses of my brain, resurfacing during each slumber. Each time I awake, only to find myself still being taunted with her image throughout the day. A constant, malevolent reminder that I had gotten so close to seeing her in person, yet still I remain so far. 

I can’t help but compare myself to Icarus in this moment. Having come so close to my Sun, only to see it drift further and further away from me as I fall back down, and crash into the Sea of reality below me. 

Three months, and the only thing my mind can focus on is her. If I thought I was obsessive before, then I’ve reached an all time low now. 

I keep trying to swim above the waves, but my wings have melted away, and the current is pulling me under the surface. Drowning me. I am drowning in the Sea but I still long for the Sun. 

I can’t even function, I can barely even focus on these damned reports long enough to get one sentence written down before my mind inevitably wanders back to her. I need answers. There’s no way I am going to get these write ups done in time until I get some answers. 

I don’t know why I feel the need to hide this, maybe it’s been born out of habit after having worked so long with a team that has a propensity for prying it’s way into my every action, or maybe it’s been born from their tendency to automatically default to worry when it comes to my wellbeing. Either way, I feel the need to keep this part of me to myself. The part of me that decides to put my actual work aside in order to chase after a dying hallucination. 

So I subtly glance over each of my shoulders, making sure no one is inadvertently staring in this direction, before I reach into the top drawer of my desk, pulling out one of the scientific journals I was reading from last night. I bury it in the spine of the case folder, disguising it, and flip it open, picking up my reading where I left off.

But my quest for answers is short lived. 

“Hey, Kid.” 

Morgan.

What was he doing here? “Morgan? How’d you… what’re you doing here?”

“A little birdie told me you’ve been having a hard time, so I thought I’d stop by and check in on my favorite genius.”

I would put good money on it that Garcia was the one who told him. “Thanks. I appreciate it. How’s Hank doing?”

“The little guy is more than I can keep up with. But that’s not why I’m here. I heard you nearly broke your neck trying to jump out of a moving car.” 

“I didn’t break anything.” That was three months ago. That’s not why he’s here. This is what I mean about my team’s tendency to worry. They’ve probably picked up on my peculiar behavior since then, despite my efforts in trying to maintain a relatively sane façade. 

“What’s going on Kid? Look, I’ve known you to do some pretty stupid things, but nothing like this. Jumping out of a car on the way to a crime scene? That’s not you. Don’t try to tell me that nothing’s going on because it clearly is.”

“I’m sure Garcia already told you everything.” I sit down, picking up my reading where I left off, hoping that he would get the message that I wanted nothing more than for him to drop the subject. Sure, I’m glad he’s here, but none of this really concerns him. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Dismiss this all you want. But know that I will nag you about it all day if I have to.”

Why is it that I always find myself having to explain everything I do. _Maybe if you would stop acting out there would be nothing to explain._ True. Sometimes I wish he could just read my mind. That he would already know what’s wrong without me having to tell him. That my satchel was transparent so that he could just see the rocks without actually having to take them out. I know that’s not fair to him. He’s just trying to be a good friend. But despite all of that, I really just want to get back to my reading. _Make it quick and then he’ll leave._ Okay. Quick. I can do that.

“Did you also happen to hear about that case we worked on a few months back?”

“I did.”

Ok, so at least he knows part of it. Good, this will take even less time than I thought. Just as I was getting myself ready to explain the whole ordeal to him - well, not the whole ordeal because I needed to get back to my book, more like a portion of it - he continued speaking. 

Except now his tone has changed. It’s that same old tone that he used to use when we worked cases dealing with victims that have gone through trauma. It’s a tone full of assurance. One that offers solace, and uses security to disguise the underlying apprehension that comes with commiserating an ancient event without acknowledging it outrightly, and in doing so, abating the pain that comes with having to recall those memories back to life. A tone that shows me he’s treading lightly, so as to not rattle me with memories of Tobias.

“I also heard that you ended up in the hospital? After one of the Unsubs drugged you?” Oh, thank God. He knew that too. One less thing I would have to explain. Wait… if he knows about that… then how much _does_ he know exactly?

“Yeah, I was drugged.”

“With what?”

“Does it matter?” I could tell by the look he gave me that he didn’t like that answer. “It was some type of hallucinogenic laced with a paralytic.”

“What happened?”

“It was a hallucinogenic, Morgan. I hallucinated.” 

“Kid, I am just trying to help.” That old tone is back again. 

“I didn’t ask for your help!” I am suddenly aware of how much louder my voice is now than when it was when we had started talking. Yeah, that’s great. Just draw more attention to yourself by yelling. Why not yell loud enough so that the agents down on the other floors can hear about this too. 

Morgan at least had the common courtesy to wait for me to calm down before continuing, that same old tone returning again for the third time. “Look Reid, I know you. You only get defensive like this when somethings up. What are you not telling me? What did you hallucinate?”

Stupid emotions. Gave me away. It probably wasn’t even my emotions, or the yelling that did it. It was probably just Morgan. Those old profiling skills that are ingrained in him. He could probably just read me like a book at this point. Another trauma victim that he just needed answers from. You know I blame Garcia. She had no right calling up Morgan and telling him to come on over here. I mean he has a kid for God’s sake. He should be spending time with Hank instead of sitting here trying to get me to explain something that I don’t even want to explain in the first place. _He came all the way out here, you might as well tell him._ It’s not like he’s on the team anymore, so whatever I tell him, he won’t be able to circulate back to the rest of them. I hope. 

“I saw this garden. Or at first, I didn’t know that it was a garden because it was all in ruins… but it was a garden. And there was this brick wall…. then, when I walked inside - into the garden - there was this girl just sitting there. So I sat down with her and we just talked.” I tried to say that last part nonchalantly, hoping he wouldn’t press on and ask what it was that we talked about. It didn’t work.

“What did you talk about?” Well, so much for that idea. 

“About me.”

“You?” With the type of incredulous look he had now written all over his face, you would think that I would find this the least bit insulting. Like there’s nothing about me that could possibly be of interest to anyone. As if the only thing that ever flies through my head is statistics. Yeup. Insulting. 

“Yes, me. I told her about me.” His look on his face morphed into skepticism, silently telling me I need to elaborate. “We sat down, pulled these rocks out of my satchel - I had my satchel with me - anyways, we pulled rocks out of it, and with each rock we talked about a small factoid about me.” 

I tried to tell him as much as possible without hashing out all of the personal details. It’s not like I was trying to relive this dream with him. The more I talked, the more I saw his face grew to resemble contentment. As if I was the witness in that interrogation room, slowly but surely giving him the answers that he didn’t know he sought after until they had, at last, all been revealed and he was finally satisfied with my cooperation. Eventually, I had recounted nearly every aspect of my hallucination to him, save for the actual ‘factoids’ that were discussed, only keeping what I thought was important, leaving out everything that was too painful to bring up again. 

By the end of it, I had no intentions of returning back to my reading, which at this point was useless as long as Morgan was here. Instead I settle for just sharing my findings with him, hoping he’s able to shed some light on it, or at least provide me with a fresh perspective. 

“Sounds like a pretty specific hallucination.” 

“I know! I know. It has to mean something, but precognitive dreaming isn’t a secure science. So even if it is possible, there’s still the matter of me dreaming about her specifically.”

“Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Hallucinations are things that our brains dream up, right? Now I don’t know the science like you do, but I can bet that your mind is trying to tell you something.”

“Like what? Morgan, I don’t get it. Why would I hallucinate her if she’s not real?”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence mixed with déjà vu. And once you saw her, you were able to place her face.” 

“Actually, it is widely believed that the human brain is incapable of inventing new faces. In fact, results of several surveys across large population data sets have indicated that between 18% and 38% of people have experienced at least one precognitive dream and 70% have experienced déjà vu. And, if we’re talking about the percentage of persons that even believe that precognitive dreaming is possible - “

“Let me stop you right there. Maybe you were just dreaming about a generic stereotype.“

“No, it wasn’t like that at all. This was specific. She wasn’t some stereotype. And I can remember her face exactly, it wasn’t just some generic image of a person that my brain was trying to construct. It felt real. Like she was actually right there, listening to me the whole time. Her voice, her touch. It all felt so… real.”

“Okay, the important thing isn’t about what you hallucinated but why. Maybe you just crave that feeling of—“

“But why hallucinate something so perfect if I am just going to wake up to see that none of it is real? To have it all taken away?” I say all this a little faster than I intended to, interrupting Morgan in the process. I’m getting anxious now, and there’s no way that he’s not picking up on it. 

“Okay, okay. Slow down Kid. You’re missing what I’m trying to say. I think there is a deeper meaning to what you thought about while you hallucinated.” Seeing what I suppose was a look of utter confusion written across my face, he took the conversation down a different route. 

“Okay Reid, you know what would help you figure this out? A break. Put this to the side for now. Give it some time; maybe a couple of days or even weeks. Then come back to it. Your mind will be refreshed, and you’ll be able to look at it more objectively.” He could tell that I wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Look, just think about it, okay? I know I always end up finding what I’m looking for the moment I stop trying. Maybe the answer will just come to you.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Look, I have to get going soon and I wanted to swing by Garcia’s on my way out. But I’m only a phone call away if you want to talk about this more later, alright?” With a nod from me and a pat on my shoulder from him, Morgan stood up and made his way towards Garcia’s office. 

Taking his advice into consideration, I put the journal aside, shifting my focus back to my reports. But it didn’t work. I keep trying to push her out of my mind. But her memory keeps forcing its way back in. Again, I see her in everything. 

Even staring down at all the meaningless words on the pages from the manila case files I could see her face. I could see it in the way the words had arranged themselves; the empty, white spacing between each word and line, dancing across the page, morphing themselves to form the pattern of a face that I was more than familiar with. _Her_ face. I’m losing my mind. God, I hope Morgan ends up being right because this is killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can take this –

And then it happened. 

I don’t know what it was exactly, maybe an act of God, or Fortune herself coming back to tempt me, but in that moment, something caught my ear. And it wasn’t just an ordinary something. As soon as I heard it, a flash of realization came over me. 

I could recognize that cadence even if it was drowning in an ocean of sounds. _It’s her voice._

Wait… she’s here?! What is she doing here? I keep spinning myself around in my chair to see where she is, all to no avail. It’s like I am transported back in time, my head spinning again, the cause however, entirely different. 

_Focus_.

There!

I shot up out of my seat as soon as I caught her apparition leaving through the glass bullpen doors.

I knew I saw her somewhere before. She must be an agent with another division from another floor. Or maybe she’s a visitor…. What am I doing? I’m just standing here making speculations and she’s leaving! She’s leaving! _Go after her, you moron!_

I probably dropped half of the files off my desk and onto the floor. I scramble out of there as fast as I could, but my damned chair is in the way and I nearly trip on it before catching myself, landing on almost every single paper on the edge of my desk, before hurling myself across the bullpen. 

This girl always manages to turn gravity against me somehow. How intriguing. 

I throw myself through the doors of the bullpen, catching the eyes of probably every agent in the building.

No… no! Not again! Where is she? The familiar ding of the elevator almost answers my question, but the doors close before I could confirm its answer. I turn my focus to the light above the doors to see that the letter _P_ is now illuminated.

The parking garage.

Next thing I know, I’m making a mad dash down the stairs to the parking garage as fast as my legs can possibly carry me. She’s not getting away this time. I don’t care if I actually do break my neck. 

Fate must be intervening again, because I made it to the garage before the elevator doors even opened. I keep trying to get my staggered breathing under control, but I can’t for the life of me, get a hold of it. I had to hunch over just to prevent myself from passing out.

The doors began to open once the elevator finally reached the garage floor, and they could not have opened any slower. I was beginning to feel that familiar pang of pain in my side that usually makes itself known after having run too quickly on a full stomach. My wings are melting. 

“Morgan?!” This isn’t Fate. This is Fortune, surely laughing at another man’s attempt to grasp at happiness as She dangles it before him. 

“Reid? What happened? Did you just run all the way down here?” Gee Morgan, I wonder what could have ever given you that idea. 

I don’t even have enough breath to address all of his questions right away, I have to take a moment to gather myself. And even then, I am so out of breath, and am in such a hurry, that this fatal combination causes me to leave out important details as to why it was I ran down the stairs, chasing after the elevator. My words start falling out of my mouth in between each gasp I take, desperate for air. 

“Morgan… Morgan. What floor did she get off at?”

“What?”

“The girl. That was in the elevator with you… what floor…. did she get off at?” I didn’t have the energy for more questions, my breath just now barely catching up with me. My waxed wings are gone, and I am left with only feathers. I’m falling. 

“Kid, there was no one else in the elevator with me.” My body crashes into the Sea below, the waves throwing me against the rocks that line the shore, the crash of impact depriving me of air. 

I’m getting frustrated now. At who, I don’t know. But frustrated nonetheless. I’m trying to repair my already melted wings when the water has already taken the place of air in my lungs. 

“What? No Morgan, I saw her. She-”

“Saw who?”

“She got on the elevator after she left.”

“Left where? Who?”

“Left the bullpen….”

“Reid what are you talking about? I was the only one in that elevator.” Dead. I am dead. I have finally washed up among the shoreline, the remnants of my wax wings lost forever at the bottom of the Sea. My body, lifeless. Unrevivable. 

“THE GIRL! I saw her leave. She got on the elevator.”

“No. She didn’t. Look, why don’t we take a seat over here-“

“No! Morgan! I saw her!”

“Kid, I’m telling you there was no one else in there! Get a hold of yourself. Come sit down and we can talk this out.”

“No, I’m done with explaining everything! I’m not hallucinating, alright? I know what I saw. I saw her! …Okay?” 

We both just stood there, looking at each other with completely polar opposite expressions. Mine, a look of despondency. His, a look of concern. My breath being the only sound made between us, my water-filled lungs crying to be revived. Choking on reality. 

It’s as if I am stuck here on this shoreline. This garden-less shoreline, with only the distant memory of the Sun’s rays. Those same beams of light, serving as a vague reminder of what once was, of a warmth that I had drawn impossibly near to, whose intensity will never be as great as what I had once known it to be. That’s all it is. A distant reminder, now only there to perpetually mock my failed attempt to love what Icarus loved. 

I am the first one to break this silent staring contest that we have going on. My eyes drift towards the floor as one of my hands shields the parking garage light from my eyes, as the other tries to alleviate the pressure that is making its way to my temples. A headache. Again. 

Once again I had come a step closer only to find that I could not reach the Sun.

Morgan sees this, and he too gives up the staring contest from earlier, which would have continued had the lights above not inflicted me with another headache. 

“Look Reid, I think you should see someone. About the headaches at least. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, then do it as a favor to me. Please.” 

“Alright, alright.” I concede with unwarranted hostility, frustrated with the fact that Morgan is right. I can do nothing from the shore without my wings. Without my Sun.

Seeing that he doesn’t make any more attempts to console me, I turn to leave before either one of us dares to continue this pointless conversation any further. **“** I have to get back to my case files.” There is no use in trying to expel water from lungs that can no longer breathe life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 to be posted soon.  
> My Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts


	3. Chapter 3

**Spencer’s POV**

“Sir?” 

I hear a muffled voice and I can feel the grass beneath my feet. 

“Excuse me, Sir.”

I can hear the wind again. I can hear it rustling against my ears, its whistling breaking the silence that surrounds me. And if I look farther I can see a patch of grass that’s been indented. The place where the rocks once were, now abandoned. 

Everything is murky. And eerie. 

“Sir!” Bright lights. No wind. No grass. A chair whose arm rest is jamming itself into my ribcage. I must have fallen asleep. The hand of the nurse jolts me awake, pulling me away from what was my Paradise, once again. 

“Yes?” 

“I have your results from your CT. The scan shows no signs of any abnormalities. Your headaches could be stress induced….” The longer she drones on with this information the more distant her voice sounds. Meaningless jargon. 

Why did I listen to Morgan? I’ve been down this road before. Same test, same diagnosis. There’s nothing wrong. It’s just headaches. 

It’s been two months since that incident with him in the parking garage. I guess a part of me is just desperate for answers. Desperate enough to look for them anywhere, even in a hospital. I hate hospitals. _Why_ did I listen to Morgan?

Four months. Two more months came and went since that doctors visit had passed by. I’ve tried to limit my caseload in the meantime, hoping that taking on less work would keep the headaches at bay. Two months is all it took for me to fall back into the routine that is Reality. However, that routine doesn’t last long before it comes crashing down again.

It was another case gone south. 

None of us saw it coming. It had happened so quickly that, even if we did see it coming, we wouldn’t have had enough time to brace ourselves. Just another case. 

It was simply a mere trifle, which resulted in a slight mistake, which in turn, caused quite a serious matter to follow after it in its wake. Just another case.

Emily had gotten shot on just another case. We followed the Unsub inside, taking the front entrance while the others covered the side and back exits, Emily in front with me trailing close behind. We profiled a group, but not one this big. Shots rang out throughout the building, followed by shouts of our team, warnings to take cover being drowned out by the sounds of firearms cracking through the air. Just another case. 

Just. Another. Case.

A bullet lodged itself in the part of Emily’s shoulder that was left uncovered by her vest. It was nothing serious. But it was enough of an impact to knock the wind out of her, causing her to lose her balance, sending her crashing into me, injured shoulder first. It was only one bullet wound but there was a lot of blood. I was afraid she was going to collapse. 

When the case was over and the arrests were made, I had agreed to ride to the hospital with her. She needed stitches. At least.

Just another case. 

We were guided through the doors of the hospital as the EMTs wheeled Emily through the halls, with me following closely behind on foot. They led us to the ER where they assessed her injuries, and decided that the bullet would best be removed in the OR. 

While we were heading to the OR, the scene that unfolded before me caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, and a splintering feeling that started in my chest was beginning to make itself more known throughout my entire being.

It’s as if my spirit had recognized her presence before I even saw her. 

Sure enough, I am frozen in place, hypnotized once again. Cupid had lifted his bow, aimed, and shot his devious arrow, but he missed. There _she_ is…or was. She flew right by me. As soon as I had seen her approaching, I saw her fly by just as fast, leaving me behind. 

It’s like the world is spinning around me, and I am stuck in place with lead feet, as I am forced to watch her, _her,_ walking away past me. Turning around, I see that the EMTs are already far off, down the hall, unfazed by the sight of her, continuing in their mission to take care of the injured. How could they be so blasé? 

Cupid’s arrow had failed to penetrate my heart. And instead it glided right by me, leaving me to stare at where it would fly off to, hoping that the wind would carry it back to me, hoping that Fate had intended that arrow for me. My love was right in front of me. My love who is not yet mine. 

It’s as if my heart has stopped. Everything within me stops, my wild thoughts finally being stilled, but the world around me is still moving. She is still moving; farther and farther away. 

I am stuck at a crossroads. Both paths whirling away in opposite directions at what seems like lightening speed. Emily was hurt, but there she is, as clear as day. My heart wanted nothing more than to go after her but my head keeps pulling my attention back to my friend. This was no dream, there was no fog to guide my feet towards making the right decision, there was no garden, no ambulance. Just her. And she was walking away.

_Emily would understand._

Listening to that small voice of reasoning, I felt the lead that had weighed my feet down, melt away, giving way to a new spark of life. 

I am dashing after her,

Hoping that I can catch the arrow before it falls to the ground,

Or finds another heart to pierce, 

Wishing that this isn’t another deceitful dream. 

I almost crash into her, throwing myself in front of her path before the image of her can flutter away again, still not convinced that this is real. My thoughts are picking up their wild pattern once more, running around in my head, forcing all reason out and instead crowding it with thoughts of her. Spinning. My head is spinning. 

She looks up, taking in the disastrous sight of me before her. I am just standing there, trying to catch my breath, wheezing like an idiot, leaning on the wall to support myself, and I can’t even put two words together to introduce myself. It’s a wonder she doesn’t start panicking like I’m sure I eventually would if this entire encounter goes to hell. 

She rips out her earbuds, “Are you okay?!” She gestures to my shirt, and it just then dawns on me that I am still covered in blood from Emily’s accident. 

“Yeah… Yeah this isn’t my blood.” The look of worry that had set itself on her face when she took in the sight of me is still there, and now there’s more of it. I try to wash that look away from her face with an explanation. 

“No, no! It’s okay, my friend was shot.” This isn’t working. I’m scaring her. With how much practice I’ve had over the years, you would think that I’d be able to explain a simple gunshot wound. But, no. I’m not good at explanations. And I am even worse at introductions. 

“It’s okay, they aren’t hurt. I mean, they _are_ , but…nothing serious. They’re in surgery, but it’ll be okay. It’s just…. Hi.” I am making an utter fool of myself, waving my hand and babbling like an idiot to someone who would otherwise be a complete stranger were it not for that old hallucination. 

“…Hi?” I could die right now and I would die happy. 

“Hi.” I must be dreaming. This can’t really be her. My Reality is shattered, the sandstorm of a dream engulfing all that is real, mixing the two worlds into one. 

She’s so much more radiant in person. Even Icarus would have been envious - my Sun is brighter than his. Are there other people here? Do they see her too? It’s not just me, right? I can’t be the only one who sees her. She’s actually here. How can everyone else be so unaffected, so indifferent?

“So…Um…. did you need something?” After hearing this, I realize that I’ve just run up to her without so much as the slightest bit of preface to my actions. I just told a complete stranger that my friend was shot, expecting her to come to the same realization that I had. That our futures were sealed long ago in a dream designed by none other than Fate herself. 

Yet, here she was, unaware of the grand role that she had already played in my Life. 

“Hi. Yeah. Yes. Um… My name’s Spencer Reid, and I was wondering…do you know where the waiting room is?”

“Yeah, I think you just missed it. Right behind you.” I didn’t even hear anything she said, I was blinded by the sight of her. She’s giving me directions and I am just standing here like a deer in the headlights, mesmerized by the car that’s about to collide into me. She could be Death personified and I’d embrace her with open arms. 

“Right there.” My head slowly drifts to where she’s pointing, reluctant to take my eyes off her, as if she would disappear the second I looked back. 

And as if just merely thinking about it wills it into existence, sure enough, I look back to see that she is already walking in the direction she was headed before I interrupted her, as if nothing had come in the way of that arrow’s trajectory to begin with. 

What? No, no no. I didn’t actually need directions! She’s leaving. My words caught, refusing to cross that barrier from my brain to my mouth. She’s putting her earbuds back in, she’s really leaving. _Say something!_

“I had a hallucination about you!“ I blurt out, as a last-ditch effort, hoping that this time, she will turn around to stay. Or at least turn around to have a conversation that was more than just an exchange of greetings. 

Her steps halt and her hand stays frozen in mid air, still holding the earbud that she hadn’t yet placed back in her ear. 

“What?” She’s turning around. It’s working. _Explain more._

“About a year ago. I had a hallucination about you during a case.” It must have been the buzz I had from her, that same intoxicating effect that she gave me in the hallucination. Dionysus is toying with me. That must have be why I am so willing to explain more than what I would normally reveal to a complete stranger. That, or the hallucination had planted in me a false sense of security a while ago, giving me the illusion that I already knew her, despite us never having spoken to each other before, let alone neither of us ever having met.

“A case?”

“Yeah. I work for the FBI.”

“Oh. Well that explains the blood.” Blood? Oh, yeah. I had nearly forgotten about that. I’m standing here covered in someone else’s blood, my appearance completely disheveled, with my hair stuck to my forehead from all the sweat that this conversation was producing, and I just told a stranger I had hallucinated about her. No wonder she wanted to be rid of me so quickly. 

“You don’t look okay… are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?” I nod, as if to show that my head is still in fact functionable. 

I don’t know what more to say. The silence lasts for so long that _I_ almost think about giving up and turning around to leave. We both just stand there for what feels like an eternity, the world spinning around us, while we are perpetually frozen still, stuck in silence. 

She’s the one to make the first move. Naturally assuming that the conversation is over, she fixes her glance back towards the ground and continues to walk away, putting her earbuds back in. And I just stare at the ground as she leaves, listening to her footsteps as they fall back into making a steady rhythm against the floor. 

But the rhythm shuffles, and my eyes snap back up at the sound of her voice “Are you sure it was me that you hallucinated about?” She asks, turning back around as she takes her earbuds off again, more gently this time. I answer her in a heartbeat, thankful that the conversation isn’t over yet.

“Without a doubt.”

“Huh…. What was it?” 

“Hmm?” 

“The hallucination. What was it about?” All the worry that was there on her face before is gone, replaced instead by intrigue. Intrigue, accompanied by what looks to be… amusement? 

“It…Well it uhm…. You want me to tell you now? Like, right here?”

“No, you’re right. I suppose not here….” She draws that last word out, hanging on the final syllable, her smile more prominent now. Is…is she waiting for me to ask her out? 

Dionysus is tempting me again with that smile of hers. I had drank from the cup of Life, only to find him sitting at the bottom of Its glass, tempting me with mirth and beauty. ‘Take another sip’ he says, as he offers me all I could ever want in this world. How could I, a mere mortal, refuse? 

“How…how about over coffee? Or tea. It doesn’t have to be coffee, although you do strike me as a coffee person, not that I’m making assumptions or anything like that… or it doesn’t even have to be tea at all! It could be some other drink… not alcohol, I’m not trying to get you drunk or anything! …Unless you like alcohol? Not that I’m suggesting that you’re an alcoholic or anything of the sort, I just meant, you know, if you wanted to get drinks that would be fine. Alcohol-less drinks would be fine too… like coffee! Or water. If you wanted- “

“I love coffee.” Oh, thank God. 

“Coffee. Okay, good. Coffee. Yeah… Maybe…maybe not right now though?”

“Yeah, you look…. preoccupied.” She motioned again to my shirt. I followed her eyes to my shirt before looking back up to meet her stare. We both resign to looking at the other for an answer, challenging the other to speak first, but neither of us wanting to take the dare.

We both attempt to save the conversation, our minds separately deciding to begin speaking at the same time. Awkwardly laughing off this coincidence, I give in and let her speak first.

“I was just going to say that I’m volunteering at the blood drive in the clinic that they’re holding for the next few days in the Hematology wing.”

“Oh that’s interesting!” Excitement was beginning to overtake me at the chance of getting to see her again, and I couldn’t control the words that were spilling out. “Did you know that type O+ is one of the most common blood types among society, with about 38% of individuals having that type.”

I can tell that the amusement is back by the way she tilts her head and smiles. I’ve only seen it twice and I’m already in love with that smile of hers. Her smile that confounds me. “No I didn’t. Well, I knew it was common, but not that common…. Anyways, we usually finish around 3:00 each day. If you wanted to stop by afterwards. For coffee.” 

“Oh, okay. Well I could stop by tomorrow. Or the next day, you know after you’re done with the blood drive. Or, I could - “

“Tomorrow is good. I’ll see you then.” She begins to walk away, leaving me standing there. 

“Wait, I have a question.” 

I am met with those same eager eyes from afar, and that part of me that was searching for answers all these months finally makes an introduction while it still has a chance. “Were you by any chance at the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, Virginia within the last four months?”

“Excuse me?” 

“The last four months… did you happen to stop by there? It’s a big, tan, square building… were you ever there?” I don’t bother with formality. I don’t even care what my questions sound like, I just want answers to satiate that rabid curiosity of mine. 

“No, I can’t say that I was.”

“Oh, okay. I uh… just one more question. Have you ever been to Albuquerque?”

Grasping for whatever remnants of my sanity are left, I try asking her if she was in town at the time I had jumped out of the car. She found this humorous, and I could tell she was quickly trying to quell any giggles that threatened to spill out of her mouth, allowing my favorite smile to take their place instead. 

“As a matter of fact, yes. I was there earlier this year. Why?” Okay, so I was only half-insane. Good to know. 

“No reason.” I say with perhaps the biggest smile on my face, one big enough to rival hers. She nods at this and starts to leave after eyeing me skeptically for a moment, wondering what could have possibly caused me to smile like that. As if she didn’t know I was already a goner after having just briefly met her. I am entirely drunk off the divine ecstasy that Dionysus had so graciously gifted me. I could already hear Morgan giving me some type of affirmation while patting me on the shoulder like he always does. _That’s it, Pretty Boy!_

I returned to work the next day only to find that it was even harder for me to concentrate on my reports than it had been before. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if she had only agreed to coffee in order to save me from my rambling. Maybe Cupid’s arrow wasn’t intended for me, and it was just another one of Fortune’s twisted polys in Her war against man. I don’t care. I still ultimately got a yes. 

A yes. 

She agreed. 

My jaw was hurting from smiling so much. I wasn’t even aware I was smiling until Rossi so graciously pointed it out in front of everyone. “My, my. We’re all smiles today, aren’t we?” 

“He’s got a date.” Emily announces much louder than she needed to, as if she was finally taking her vengeance on me for ditching her like I had. Her voice is so loud that she ends up drawing in the attention of the other agents.

“Uh oh, who’s the unlucky girl?” 

“Very funny. She’s the girl I met while I was waiting for Emily to get stitches.”

“Wait. Is she the one from-?” 

“Yes. She’s the one from the hallucination that was over a year ago. Can I get back to my case files now?” I am thoroughly annoyed now. What I wouldn’t give to disappear into nothing at this very moment. 

“Absolutely not!” Oh, great. If I thought Emily was loud, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Her volume was nothing compared to the level of excitement that Garcia expresses, throwing herself into the conversation, “You have to tell us about her! What’s her name?”

“Her name— “ I just now realized I forgot to ask for her name. I ask about blood types but not her name?! Dionysus has teamed up with Fortune, both laughing at my idiocy. “I don’t know…”

Luke chimes in at hearing this, jumping at the chance to tease me. “You don’t know her name?” Great. Let’s just involve the whole world now shall we? 

“No…I forgot to ask.” 

“Oh, so you forget to ask the girl’s name, but you don’t forget to ask for a date?” 

Before even more teasing could persist, JJ voiced her worries, bringing us all back down into Reality with her. “Reid are you sure it’s a good idea to start dating this girl?”

“First of all, it’s just coffee, it’s not a date. Second of all, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, I mean she’s not the _exact_ person from your hallucination. That person doesn’t even exist. She could be entirely different than the person you expect her to be.” 

I didn’t want to argue with her. After all, she did have a point, and a valid one at that. Oh, how wicked Cupid’s arrows are in the end! “Are you saying that it’s my fault if it doesn’t work out?”

“No I’m just saying… Spence, you’ve created an impossible image of her in your head. You can’t blame her if she’s not the person that you made her out to be.”

Well, now my whole day is ruined. I could take Cupid’s bow and break it in half myself, right now. 

“Guys give the kid a break, they’ve hardly even meet yet.”

Clouded with a newfound sense of dread, I could not get my mind to focus on work, no matter how hard I tried. So, I decide to absentmindedly listen to all the teasing and advice they felt the need to give me instead. I know they have the best of intentions, and they only mean well, but some of their advice is only adding to the uneasy feeling that’s slowly building in the pit of my stomach, especially JJ’s. And by the time the evening rolls around, I am almost paralyzed with dread.

As I arrive at the hospital, my nerves only build. They continue to do so as I find where the Hematology wing is and by the time I enter the building, they threaten to spill over. I can hardly contain it all. That is, until I finally see her. And when I finally spot her, all the stress in my system dissipates. Gone.

She catches me standing near the doors, waiting for her, and she waves me over to inform me that her work day is almost over. Once she finishes up she finds her place not too far from my side. Deciding against cafeteria coffee, and we leave the hospital to go search for a near-by café, but not before I make sure to get her name this time. 

“So, is the hallucination the only reason you asked me out?”

“No…. Well, yes, I guess you could say that. I mean, if you’re asking had I not had the hallucination and I was given the scenario of meeting you again, would I have still asked you out? I would like to think that I would have, but there’s no way of knowing for sure, we can only make speculation. Actually, there’s this theory of parallel universes which..… w-what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, I was just teasing you. I was right though.”

“About what?”

“That if I told a joke I could get you to ramble. I like hearing you ramble… It’s endearing.”

I couldn’t help but smile at this statement of hers. I think that smile was stuck on my face for the entirety of our walk until we arrived at the café. It was probably still there when I reached to open the door for her and when we took our seats. I bet it could’ve stayed there for the rest of the night, but it was abruptly smacked off with the turn the conversation was taking, and dread started creeping back up on me, taking the place of my smile once again.

“So, what did you hallucinate about me? Was it good or bad?”

“Um…good? I suppose. It was weird.”

“A good weird?”

“Yeah, a good weird.”

“Alright so tell me about it. I want to know what it’s like inside that mind of yours.”

Dread. Nothing but dread and apprehension. Where would I even start? There’s so much to tell her. Even _I’m_ having a hard time wrapping my head around this. She doesn’t even know all the things that I told her about in the garden. That wasn’t her. Not really. JJ was right. It was just an image my mind had constructed, the real her is right here. I would want nothing more than to tell her all of it.

My heart is screaming at me to tell her, banging against the walls of this cage inside my chest, begging for me to set it free. But my brain is holding onto the keys, urging me to keep my heart to myself, reminding me that what I set free rarely returns back to me. 

She’s completely unaware of all the things I’ve seen and I would want nothing more than to share them with her, hoping it would ease this dreadful feeling; but at the same time, I don’t want to flood her mind with all the images and burdens that would come with telling her. How do I tell her? My mind is short-circuiting. _Just start at the beginning._ The Beginning. Good idea. 

Unlike how I had recounted my dream for Morgan I had started at the very beginning. I spilled out every single detail of the hallucination to her. From the Beginning to End. How it happened, how I woke up, everything. I poured my heart out to her just as I had in the hallucination, but this time in person. It was _real_. And just like she did then, she listened with attentive ears and earnest eyes. It made me fall in love with her even more. It’s like we had picked up a conversion from a year ago, resuming like the conversation never ended.

Except there were no actual rocks this time around. It was just me and her talking over a cup of coffee. It wasn’t long before that cup of coffee turned into two. And then three. We must have been in that coffee shop for hours, because when my gaze drifted out the window I saw that the once blue sky had now incorporated more of the warm city colors into its palette. 

The day was drawing to an end, and we continued talking until the café owner informed us that he’d be closing soon. Even then, we still continued talking, picking up our conversation as we walked the cold streets of Virginia, our voices warming the air between us as I continued to tell her about my hallucination. I told her everything as I had in the Garden.

“Where’s your satchel then?”

“I left it on my desk. I’m not technically at work right now, so I didn’t bring it with me.”

“Ah, I see. Then why are you so…”

“So what?”

“I don’t know. So sullen?”

“Sullen?”

“Well, yeah. Your shoulders are dropping forward ever so slightly, as if you’re actually wearing your satchel, and no offense Doc but you don’t seem like the type to be afflicted by poor posture. There’s something else that’s bothering you, isn’t there?” 

Even in real life, outside the imagination my mind had created, she could tell that something was wrong. She could see through my soul. She could see past the veil, witnessing my internal struggle, that war within. 

The war that my head always wages against my heart.

In trying to dig up an appropriate response, I came to realize that there were rocks I still carried that had not reached their final Igneous state yet, the memories embedded in them still too fresh, the full impact of their weight still hot magma that had yet to reach the surface. I was oblivious to these molten rocks, their presence causing a numbness in me, a dull stinging writhing beneath my surface. They had yet to become a burdenous weight. 

Perhaps it’s because the trauma they bear is still too fresh, too volatile. Perhaps I just haven’t had sufficient time to process it all. Perhaps all this raw organic material is just waiting to take the shape of rocks. Waiting to morph under pressure. Waiting to be cooled the instant they are exposed to the light. Waiting to be used as weapons of war by my head. 

And by my heart. 

Perhaps. 

_They aren’t weapons yet. Tell her._ Whether this is my head speaking to me or not, I chose to listen to it nonetheless. I told her about everything against my better judgment, choosing to listen to what I suppose is my heart for once, instead of thinking with my usual rationality. 

I told her everything I had told her in that garden and then some, picking up our discussion from that night in the hallucination as if it never ended, revealing to her even more rocks that I had been too afraid to empty from my satchel before, the newer molten ones.

I told her about the clay that is my soul, and in doing so I also told her about Life, ever the potter, whose events shaped and molded me into something more meaningful. I told her about a certain serial killer and how she managed to turn my life upside down. I told her about the consequences of that fateful encounter, how it affected my mom, and how it had led me to the kiln that was Jail. I told her about the dozens of people I had almost killed. I told her how I was afraid of becoming what I had spent the better half of my life chasing. 

I told her about my mom’s condition, how it looked bleak, and how I went to the ends of the earth trying to save her. And how I had also gone to the ends of the earth trying to save _myself_ from that haunting feeling that has been hovering over me ever since I was a child. That feeling that was always nagging me to do more, telling me that I hadn’t done enough. That I could have done more to help my mom, to help prevent her from losing the fight against the mental battle that is this disease, to which man knew not the cure. I told her how I had to lie to one of my families in order to try and save the other, thinking that I could save myself in the process, but ultimately hurting myself and damaging those around me in the end.

I told her about the team members that we had lost. About how some were forced into hiding, an inevitable result of his job, chasing after someone who had it out for them. And about the one who had met his fate late one night on the job, returning to his home up above, but never being able to return to the home he had here, to the home that is his family. I told her about those who had chosen to leave; those who chose to hang onto the good left in life, and in doing so preserving their future, keeping it pure by leaving behind the horrors that come with this job. And I told her about me. How despite everything that this job had put me through, despite all the punches that Life threw at me, I had chosen to return to work each time, willing to tackle whatever else it was that Fortune inevitably had in store for me. 

“You’re not in jail anymore, are you?” She asks, her voice stunning me and bringing the steady rhythm of our conversation to a rest. I must admit, I am a bit confused by this question. Of course I’m not in jail, how else would I be walking here with her? Maybe she thinks I’m on parole. 

“What? No… I was released and reinstated after my team cleared my name.” 

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” 

“I meant up here.” Her finger made its way to her temple, and just like that, I found myself transported back. Back to that garden. Among the grass. When she placed her finger on my temple. A gentle reminder, disguised by a simple gesture, that had carried so much more meaning with it than what meets the eye. A simple gesture. A small semblance of my Eden. “Are you?” 

I don’t know how to answer this. No matter how well acquainted I am with Fortune, no matter how many punches She could throw at me, or tests She could subject me to, I would never be prepared enough to answer this type of question. How I wish explanations were as easy now as they were in that garden! Am I in jail? What kind of question was that? I’ve never stopped to think about it before. And truthfully, I didn’t want to think about it now.

She took my prolonged silence as an admission that I had changed during that time in my life, and I think she knew there was a part of me that was lost in the prison of my mind. Why else would she have asked the question? I still haven’t answered her, this whole horrid topic stopping me in my tracts. I fear that my head is going to start spinning like it had when this whole adventure of mine started, back before when I was first taken to my Eden. _Answer her._ How? I don’t even know what the answer is myself. Without trying to over think my response too much - which I’m afraid is already too late - I give a one word answer, hoping that it would suffice and make up for the lapse in time that it took me to answer.

“Sometimes.”

Now it was her turn to opt for silence in lieu of a response. She doesn’t answer. We just continue walking as she stares at me with those same ardent eyes that I saw in that garden, like she was asking me to continue explaining without forcing me to do so, silently telling me to take my time. Looking at her, my eyes held a serenity that I wasn’t aware I was capable of until now. My heart was right. I don’t mind explaining things to her, however difficult they may be. 

“Sometimes….but… talking to you, seems to bring me out of that cell.” I could tell that she was amused by this answer because the next thing I know is that my arm suddenly has a weight about it, and I look down to see that she’s interlocked her arm with mine. Her touch feels just as real as it had in the hallucination. Just as welcoming. 

Looking up from where our arms are joined, I can see her face. I can see a smile that spans across her entire face, reaching her ears. Even her eyes are smiling. Sparkling. And I am entranced. 

“Well then, Doc, seems like we should keep talking.”

I wish I could say that we did in fact keep talking. That it was that easy. But truthfully, it couldn’t have been more difficult. It was like that old war between my head and heart kept swaying from one direction to another. One moment my heart would have the upper hand in battle, the next moment, my brain would defeat it, striking against it with logic, delivering a fatal blow. And then my heart would recover and be brought back to life, only to enter into the same war once again. The cycle of battles never ending. A perpetual, tortuous war. And I wanted nothing more than to find peace between the two. 

I wanted to tell her more, hoping that in doing so, that long sought-after peace would follow. But my voice died out, the energy and willingness to continue in my explanation disappearing along with it. It’s like the weight of the rocks are back. _Just tell her._ I want to. I do. But it’s like the rocks have formed a pile, and to remove one from the pile would risk allowing all the rest to come tumbling down.

Just another damned battle between my heart and head, with the rocks their weapons against each other, the invisible war continuing. That invisible war known only to the one it affects. My eyes fought on behalf of my heart, telling her what my heart couldn’t say for itself. I saw that her eyes now had a somber look in them, like she understood the intricacies of this war in me.

It’s like her eyes joined mine in raising a fist to defend my heart in that eternal struggle, and soon my voice had no choice but to follow. I found myself wanting to tell her everything. My heart regaining a newfound strength.

I tried to tell her that I have adapted to the changes and events that reshaped my life, but my soul had dried out while I was in that prison. That kiln fire hardening every last bit of clay, forming me into the final bisque form. I tried to tell her that I am still healing, and that I would want nothing more than to return back to how life was before that brimstone and fire had changed me, but to remold everything now would risk shattering the earthenware as a whole. And I feared that if I were to let myself break, I would risk breaking beyond repair. That some of the pieces would be so small, so dust-like, that they would be forgotten about in the process of repair, leaving me to remain as something that was broken.

And I don’t know how to heal what is already set without first breaking it.

But what I _did_ know is that the more I talked to her, the more I showed her all the imperfections that were made permanent by the fire, the more she softened my heart, as if she was somehow reversing the irreparable damage that cause them in the first place. As if she was a second fire. An impossible second fire that melted all the impurities away. I wouldn’t mind shattering in her hands if it meant she would help put me back together into something more beautiful than before, each crack giving deeper meaning and a story to a plain and dull vase. 

I found our whole conversation to be therapeutic, taking away from me all the weight of my fears and worries. The only alleviation that I could find from all that weight was talking. Talking to _her_ , specifically. And she didn’t seem to mind.

JJ was wrong. She was even better than anything my mind could have fathomed. I had caught Cupid’s arrow. The arrow that Fate had, without a doubt, intended for me.

I realized this is how dreams should be. We talked as though we had no intention of stopping anytime soon. At first it wasn’t easy, but we talked all the same. And the more we talked the easier it became. I found it just as meditative now as it was back then, back in the Garden. If such a thing could even be possible.

We talked our way into eternity, and soon enough we had found the Garden once again, but it was different now. That red brick wall was now stripped of any and all dead cuttings, and was now made anew. 

We talked our way into the Garden where I had found Life once again, my withered lungs revived and given new breath. I have returned to my Eden.

We had made it past that everlasting cherubim. That same cherubim who guards what man is forbidden to find, and what Fortune prevents him from attempting to find. The one who holds a flaming sword, prepared to smite anyone who tries to enter the Garden. Our Garden. 

And I had made my way past him. I had fought my way past that flaming sword, emerging unscorched by its flame and unscathed by the blade, where I found that red brick wall once again. Our Garden. My Eden.

And it is in this Paradise that I intend to stay, where I can feel the warmth of her again, the Sun beside me.

My Sun. My Sun that emits a warmth strong enough to provide light for the seedling that was planted in my being by a year old hallucination.

It wasn’t long before that seedling finally blossomed, growing a garden inside me. Its leaves reaching, spreading itself towards the Sun. That unattainable Sun. The new plant over taking the old. The green leaves replacing all that was once withered and dried up. The Shears of my soul keeping this new plant in check, making sure that I cut off all that is dried up so that new foliage can grow in its stead, ultimately leading to a plant bigger than I could have ever imagined. A plant that takes up my entire being, growing a garden inside me. My garden. My Sun-filled garden. 

That old cherubim is long gone behind us now, guarding the entrance of our Garden so that no harm may come our way and interrupt our Paradise, nor rip us apart from each other, nor take us away from this garden, my Garden. 

My Sun-filled Garden.

I have finally found my Eden. And my Sun has found me.

——————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last part! I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for all the kudos.  
> My Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 To be posted here soon. 
> 
> Tumblr: @Caffeinated-Thoughts


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